Like Your Dying
by QueenOfTheGryffindorks
Summary: "Live with me Draco. Live like your dying." It all started with a question. "Will you do my eulogy?" One answer, list, and pact later, Draco found his life changing. All because of a few simple months spent in the right company.
1. Prologue

**Author's note: **_So who thinks my temporary vacation from fan fiction has gone long enough? Anyone? Anyone? I do! So in the spirit of getting back into my stories I've started another new one. *Happy dance* and this one I actually will be finishing! *gasp!* Amazing right? Not to mention this story will be long. Long as in over ten chapters! *double gasp* See my vacation did help with something! I realize for anyone whose never read another one of my stories is probably like "What?" but fear not you'll learn to love my pointless Author's notes. So enough of this rambling and, on with the story._

**Warning:** _In advance I should probably tell you that this will become a **slash**! Nothing major, major, but a slash none the less. So if you dislike like slash don't read this!_

**Disclaimer: **_I, sadly, do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters with in it. However, if I did Draco and Harry would have fell madly in love, and would have had little Potter-Malfoy twins with emerald eyes and blond hair. Just saying..._

_Thanks times a billion to my faboo Beta Slytherinchickk!_

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><p>"You could shed a tear because they're gone. Or you can smile because they lived." ~David Harkins<p>

Prologue 

Crying; one of the most natural reactions in the world. I can't think of a single person who likes to, but it's good for you. It proves we are all human beings. We all cry at one time or another. Sometimes over little things, hurt feelings, break ups, but other times over not so little things, like death. Crying is the one thing everyone can relate to each other with. We all cry, but I can honestly say, I can't think of another time when I saw so many people crying at once, all over the same exact thing.

I looked around the elegant, enlarged room, that was filled to capacity, though no one minded being squished all together. There were, at least, a hundred perfectly filed rows of chairs, someone sat in each and every last one. It had to be the thirtieth time I glance around the room, seeing the same weeping faces over and over again; all in an attempt to keep my gaze from falling on the hand carved, ebony casket in the front of the room. Instead, I study my shiny black dragon hide boots.

I know, eventually, I'll have to look, but I just can't bring myself to, not yet anyway. If you told me months ago that I'd be here now, trying as hard as possible not to cry, I would have told you that you were out of your ever-loving mind. It almost scares me how things change, and how quickly they do. Though I won't question it; if fate wants to twist my life around so cruelly, who was I to stop her? I guess it's just another unsolved mystery. I'm up to thirty-four of them now, not that I normally keep count. Harry, on the other hand, did. Harry. He would have wanted me to at least look, I thought.

Slowly, I raise my eyes up from the floor and look directly ahead of me. His ebony casket is placed there, among thousands of beautiful, pure white, lilies. I smile softly. _Lilies_, they always were his favorite, in honor of his mum. Tears begin to blur my vision and I choke back a sob, biting the inside of my lip with my teeth. He made me promise I wouldn't cry, so, of course, I have to try and keep calm for as long as possible. I just have to clear my head for a second and the tears will stop forming.

In my effort to keep the promise, I listen to the conversations around me, immediately recognizing the voice of Weasley consoling his seven-year-old daughter as she sobbed into his chest, distraught at the loss of her godfather.

I peer down at my silver watch. It was noon on the button, and as if on cue the crowd hushed into a silence. It was time. Gathering myself with a breath I stand on shaky legs, almost as if I am testing them out for the first time. I walked over to the golden podium, front and center of the room. Public speaking has never really been a favorite of mine and having thousands of glassy eyes staring at me was unnerving to say the least. I felt my mouth go dry like I was chewing on cotton balls. With a swallow, I open my mouth to begin the eulogy. The one that I hadn't bothered to plan. The one that broke my heart to give.

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><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>_If you've read my stories before I'm sure you can probably tell by now this is going to be out of the ordinary for me. But hey what's fan fiction without a little challenge? My next chapter depends on feedback, the more i get the quicker I'll type. _

_So, **reviews** would be lovely. After all how can I improve if I don't get feedback?_

_-QueenOfTheGryffindorks_


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** So here goes nothing. I'm alive! Yes, I know I've been gone forever. Writing real stories so to speak and filling my time with serious thinking. I'm back to school now and you know what that means? I have time to write. Weird huh? Everyone else stops writing because of school. I on the other hand start. Oh well this rambling is pointless, and filled with suck-ish grammar. Enough with the cozy catch up and on to the story.

Thanks Slytherinchickk for beta-ing! Your the best!

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><p><em>Silence is beautiful sweet bliss. It's meant to be cherished up until the very second that it is broken. Silence is a constant, and though some would find it unnerving, I find it intriguing. Though what is more intriguing, is the many ways it can be broken.<em>

_Living in the Muggle world first seemed like a challenge. Once I got the hang of it, I realized it was simple for the most part. Naturally, I couldn't use magic as often as I normally would. A plus to the restriction was that it taught me self discipline, something I seemed to lack. It has been the best descision I'd__ ever made. Also the first of many descisions I've made regarding my life. My choice taught me things so simple, it surprised me that I had never known before. Like boiling water for a hot cup of tea. Mother had always used a heating charm to keep her tea warm. How naive I was to think that that was the only way. It had never crossed my mind that muggles couldn't perform magic. _

_If there was one thing that the Muggle world caused me to loose, it was companionship with fellow wizards and witches. I suppose that is how I became so accostumed to the loneliness that surrounded me. It wasn't even uncommon for me to go without human contact for weeks. While to some, loneliness and silence only act as the shovel digging deeper and deeper into the ground edging them closer to their end. I often found myself filling my time with more meaningful things. Jotting down ideas and inner musings. It's what kept a level head on my shoulders, and on days where I felt trapped in a competely enclosed room it was my escape... _

The gentle, tender thud of a hand colliding with the front door of my small house had torn my mind from my thoughts and my pen from my journal. "Hang on!" I call out, shuffling towards the door.

I don't have a clue who is there; I rarely get vistors, I reflect, as I pull back the crème colored curtains on the window, closest to the door, attempting to get a peek at who ever is there. My eyes strained, peering out, and getting a full blast of the afternoon sunshine. I could makeout a figure in my temporary blindness. A man, who seemed relatively tall and well built from what a could see, stood on the porch. Allowing the curtain to fall back to it's place against the window ceil, I turned my attention to the door which I promptly opened for who I assumed would be a Muggle business man.

I should have realized before I opened the door that nothing is ever that simple for me. Ever. No matter how much I wished it would be. As I slowly pulled the door open, an unmistakeably warm smile came into view. A smile I hadn't seen in year, and had fully believed I'd never see again. To my shock and bewilderment here, on my front porch, is Harry Potter.

Struggling to find something welcoming to say, I blank; speechless. What can I say? I stress. Do I welcome him in with open arms? Do I tell him to bugger off? Had it been a few years ago, I would have gone with the latter. But now, I'm not so sure. I'm removed from my personal thoughts as he speaks. "Hello," he says in a casual tone, one you would use to greet an old friend with. It caught me off guard, old friend I most certainly am not. Not that I hadn't tried being his friend, I remember. He looks at me expectantly, and I realize I have yet to reply to him, so I choke out a strained, "hello."

"I know it's been a while, but may I come in?" he asks with hesitance, as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his faded denims.

"I.. well.. er.. sure," I stutter, in an un-Malfoy like manner. I'd become careless, with no one to impress; my conversational skills were rusty. I hold the door open for him, and shut it behind him once he enters. I lead him into the living room and usher him towards the sofa. "Coffee? Tea?" I inquire, trying to act normal. Well as normal as one can be, when someone you haven't seen for thirteen years or so is sitting on your couch.

"No, thank you," he says. I nod in reply and sit in an arm chair across from him.

Once again all is eerily silent. The kind of awkward silence no one could possibly enjoy. Unlike the kind I enjoy, this awkward silence requires one to worry about the inevitable. What's happening? What's he going to say? How much time has passed? What should I do now? Harry stares down at his rather tattered looking trainers. Even though I almost hate to admit it, the years seem to have been pretty good to him. His hair has grown out, covering his iconic lightning bolt scar; yet it's still its normal mess. He's ditched his tacky glasses, too. In the midst of my musings over his looks, he clears his throat loudly and looks up, his dark emerald eyes meeting mine. "I assume you'd like to know why I'm here."

"No, Potter, really?" I sneer sarcasticly, more jokingly than in real annoyance. I owed it to myself to atleast be a tad bit honest. Even if it was awkward, it was nice to be in the presence of another human being, be it magic or muggle.

"Same old, Malfoy," he sighs, shaking his head, "anyway, I came to ask something of you."

A favor. Was that allowed in society today? To call upon anyone you wish and ask a favor of them? "Go on," I say, through gritted teeth, trying not to let my thoughts spew out of my mouth.

He rushes out all of his words, smushing them together in an incoherent sentence.

"What?" I ask, unable to make heads-or-tails of his previous statement. He gathers a breath and returns to staring at his shoes.

"Will you.. write.. my.. eulogy?" he asks again slowly, allowing a moment of pause between his words.

Eulogy? His eulogy? As in death speach? _Death_? "I-I don't understand," I stutter, suddenly finding the floor interesting. Is he dying? We're only thirty! What's wrong with him? Is he okay? Why do I care? Why me? What should I say? What _could _I say? What do you say at those things? Funerals. I inwardly shutter, if there is one thing I genuinely hate, it's funerals.

"My eulogy," he says again, though now he's looking at me. I can feel his eyes on me, boring into me, searching for a reaction. "When I'm gone."

"Are you dying?" I croak out. I know that that is untactical, but what else could I say? Is he dying? He's the-boy-who-lived.. twice. He can't really be dying, can he?

"Not yet."

Not yet? It was times like these when I fully understand why I stopped talking to people long ago. "Then why-" I begin, ready to voice all of my questions, but he continues talking over me.

"Not yet, but soon," he clarifies. I look up at him, I have been trying to avoid meeting his eyes since he first came out with this. What I see shocks me. Through his emerald orbes is a portal of emotion, I can look straight though. So many things race through my mind. How? How is he dying? When? What could I possibly say in Harry Potter's eulogy? Why me? Before I even get the words out, he seems to know what I want to ask. "I think you'll be a good choice and when the time comes I'm sure you'll know what to say." After a moment of prolonged silence, he continues once again, "so, will you speak at my funeral?"

I don't trust myself to speak. Not when I am being asked something like this. I'm not sure why, but something deep down inside me, screams that it is the right thing to do. That it's important, not only for him, but for me. Who am I to ignore such a request?

"Yes," I reply simply, in a meek voice; hoping that I'm making the right descision, and trusting I'd actually know what to say when the time came.

_And just like that with a single goodbye he left. Not an "owl you later." or "thanks for doing this.". I was left alone once more. With all the thought provoking material I think my mind could handle and seemingly know where to store it but inside the black leather binding of this small book._

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

I hope to do regular updates with this story being I can't seem to get the idea to fall out of my head.

Review with some feedback? I don't even mind flames. :)

Hope to update soon

~QueenOfTheGryffindorks


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